Page 94 of Told You So
Fifty
Bethany
I sit outside my parents’ house for a few minutes before I can bring myself to go inside. Seeing Nick has put my mind at ease in a strange way, and although I don’t want to have this argument with my mom, whatever it may be, I don’t think it will affect me as much as it might have any day before today. Whether it’s my parents cutting me off or telling me to move my things, I feel like I’m ready for it. I’ll figure it out without them.
Jesse’s bedroom light is on, flickering behind his drawn drapes. He’s already gone through his nightly routine of reorganizing his special toy piles and brushing his teeth. He’s playing his video game before he goes to bed, until he’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open. At least he’s still got those small routines to comfort him, and knowing that makes me feel better, too. Being away from him is difficult, but the longer I’m away, the more I know it’s for the best.
I walk toward the house, expecting it to be locked like it usually is, but it’s not. When I open the door, the house is quiet, and only a side table lamp glows in the living room. A light over the oven illuminates the kitchen and my mother’s outline at the center island.
She sets a glass of wine down on the counter and looks at me. I rarely see her drink, so I’m surprised to see a bottle on the counter, half empty.
“You came,” she says in a whisper, so quiet I almost don’t hear her.
I set my purse down on the couch. “I told you I would.”
Slowly, she lowers her feet onto the plush rug, covering the hardwood floor, and walks over to the light switch. She eases the soft glow of the dimmer up so I can see her more clearly.
Her yoga pants and loose sweater are a surprise. Her hair is in a messy ponytail, her eyes red and puffy. I can’t remember the last time I saw her like this, a normal mother, mussed and real and beautiful in her own way. Gone is the perfectly groomed Laura Fairchild who has a different skirt and pantsuit for each day of the week.
“Please,” she says, “sit down.” She walks over to the sink and pours herself a glass of water from the filter. “Can I get you something?”
“Um, yeah, water would be great. Thanks.”
I claim a barstool across the island from her, noticing my journal on the marble top. My stomach flip-flops.
When she turns around, she catches me eyeing it. “Please, take it,” she says, nodding to the leather-bound book as she slides me a water glass, more than half full. “Part of me...” She sighs. “Part of me thought I shouldn’t read it, even though you wanted me to. Another part of me couldn’t resist.” She stares at the book, like it holds some powerful memory. “You’re right. I feel like I saw you for the first time.” Her eyes shift to mine, shimmering in the low light. “Saw myself, actually.”
My grip tightens on the glass of water. “Is that why you wanted me to come over?” I ask, trying to move this awkward and unwanted conversation along. “To talk about my journal?”
She glances at it again. “I’m not quite sure.” Her voice is distant, and her uncertainty confuses me.
“Mom, is everything okay?”
Her face hardens with a frown. “No, Bethany, everything is not okay. This,” she says, gesturing between us, “is far from okay.”
“Well,” I bite back, “it’s been like this for years, so I’m not sure what you expect me to say.”
“Nothing,” she says more quietly this time. “You don’t have to say anything. But I would like you to listen.”
As always, my gaze shifts to the stairs, checking for prying eyes and ears. Jesse’s door is shut, and the neon light of the television illuminates that part of the dark hallway.
“He misses you,” she says suddenly. She laughs to herself and wipes beneath her eyes. “I know you’ve seen him every day, but it’s different, you not being here.” She sits back down at the island. “Things haven’t always been this hard,” she says. “Not between us. I can see how you might remember it that way, but for a time, things were different.”
She fingers the stem of her wine glass, eyes fixed on the beaded charm marker as her thoughts take her somewhere far away. “I’ve been trying to think back and remember at which point I started to forget what it meant to be a mother. Things have gotten so complicated over the years...I wish it was easier to explain it all to you.”
She pauses, thinking. I feel like I should say something to fill the void, but I’m not sure what.
“When you were a baby, you were my pride and joy. That’s all I’d wanted, after I married your father. He was the prom king, I the queen. It made sense back then. He was prominent in the town and had high hopes and vast dreams. He inspired me.” Her eyes shift from a memory in space to me. “I thought that everything would be better between us when I had you. That a child would add a layer of additional love and connection to our marriage.”
“But it didn’t,” I hear myself say. Something stirs inside of me that I haven’t felt in a long time—affection for her, I think, and curiosity.
“What they say is true—you can’t fix a marriage by adding a room to the house or a child to the mix. And I made far more mistakes than that.”
Running my finger over the condensation on the glass, I try to imagine my parents’ lives before I was born—how lonely it might’ve been—and I wait for her to continue.
“There’s something you should know, Bethany. I swore I would never tell you, but I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t, and it’s not fair to your father—for you to hate him and not know the whole story.”
Her words surprise me, intrigue me, even, like the past twenty-three years are only a version of him and I might finally get a glimpse at who he might’ve been a long time ago.
